Wicked Nights

“I’m going to take that offer for my share.” And...with nine words, Del benched her. She fought the urge to fling the phone because she couldn’t afford to replace her phone and she definitely couldn’t afford to buy the dive shop. “Money talks and cash sounds mighty good to me.”

“Del—”

He talked over her. “You’ve had a month to meet my asking price. I need to unload the place. It’s not cash flowing, and I’m overextended as it is.”

“I’m closing the Fiesta contract. Give me two weeks.” She was convinced she could turn the shop around and bring in enough business to make the place viable. Del, however, remained unconvinced.

“This is business.”

Her business.

Del had never accepted excuses. He’d always said, “Show me.” She scrambled for something to sway him. “Have I ever not won? You know how I perform in crunch situations.”

The brief pause on the other end lasted a year. Possibly three. Piper wasn’t entirely sure, but time slowed down in a very Matrix-like way.

Del exhaled roughly. “Two weeks. I won’t accept any offers for two weeks. If your offer isn’t in my hands, it’s game over.”

“Got it.”

She had her time. Now all she had to do was deliver. She was used to crunch situations and performing under pressure. Just pretend you’re climbing the dive tower, mere points out of the lead. One perfect dive. That was all it would take.

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